


two halves of one heart

by welcometonerdworld



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Check Please Big Bang, Coming Out, F/M, Gen, Homophobic Language, M/M, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Social Media, cpbb, mostly canon compliant, there are others but not main ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:38:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometonerdworld/pseuds/welcometonerdworld
Summary: Sometimes it feels like Kent is a compass needle and Jack is his Northern point. Or something. Maybe he's just bad at metaphors or maybe he'd just like some closure, but Kent finds it hard to forget about Jack. Or; Kent Parson learns how to live without Jack Zimmermann, and with him. Or maybe he just learns how to live.Written for the Check, Please Big Bang 2016!





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for the omgcp big bang! art by @foxesforsale (http://foxesforsale.tumblr.com/post/152803364687/). 
> 
> disclaimers: i know nothing about hockey, everything belongs to ngozi, this is mostly canon compliant with a few liberties as i wrote most of it before the september updates. my section titles are all from troye sivan’s for him. enjoy reading!

**part one: sometimes living’s too hard**

Maybe it’s the way that his hands are shaking and the world’s turning greyer by the second as he stares down at the limp, unconscious body of Jack Zimmermann, but Kent doesn’t think he’s going to survive this.

* * *

 

There’s something about Jack. Kent likes the way his hair falls into his droopy eyes, how his jaw ( _god_ , that jawline) clenches when he’s about to take a shot. How he allows himself a grin when the puck inevitably goes into the goal.

He also really likes the way Jack sucks on his collarbone, how his fingers curl around Kent’s waist. Kent likes his lips when they are raw from their kisses and more than anything, he likes the sheen of sweat that only ever appears when Jack has a) exercised or b) made out with him for several long moments.

That doesn’t change the fact that there’s a few things Kent does not like about Jack. He doesn’t like Jack’s self-deprecation that always turns out to be more worryingly real than it should be, considering Jack is the best fucking hockey player Kent has ever and probably will ever know. He doesn’t like how Jack spends too long drowning himself in the shower after they lose a match, only to drown his sorrows in his sixth can of beer afterwards.

He ignores all of this, though – if there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that Jack hates talking about feelings.

* * *

Jack’s hand is so cold. They’re in the ambulance and Kent thinks he might throw up if not for his lifeline: the slow but steady beeps of Jack’s heartbeat. Kent grips Jack’s hand tighter and mutters to him, his phone in his other clammy hand, waiting for the Zimmermanns to call him again.

The medic approaches him and tells him something that he can’t hear. Kent can’t hear anything except the beeping and the noise of the vehicle on the road and the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears –

The beeping stops.

* * *

“Kenny,” Jack groans in his ear. Kent would think that the nickname was dumb, had it not been for Jack’s voice saying it – sexy, low, so overtly turned on.

Kent grinds his hips into Jack’s and moans. He’s _so_ glad that the locker room exists and that Jack has the keys because without it, he wouldn’t be able to scratch his fingers down Jack’s spine and revel in the sounds he makes.

“Want you,” he says between breaths, hardly making sense and not caring at all.

Jack breaks away for a moment and Kent looks at him. Properly. His blue eyes are huge and his pupils are blown wide with lust and it’s fucking cheesy but Kent thinks he might be in love with this boy.

“Are you –“ Jack’s voice is croaky. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I mean. If you want to.”

“Fucking – Parse, I only waited for you to say.”

Kent raises an unimpressed eyebrow despite his inner glee. “You’re telling me we could have been doing this – each other – for longer? Like, before this confession?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Kenny.”

* * *

The clock on the wall is ticking obnoxiously.

Jack comes back to life and Kent starts to think that maybe this whole thing was his fault. He’s stuck in the goddamn waiting room because he and Zimms aren’t ‘official’ because the stupid NHL is homophobic and Jack is really weird about _feelings_ but he can’t really blame Jack for not wanting to deal with that, because he doesn’t want to either.

And yet. He would take the failure of his future career if it meant he could just get inside and see Jack. He doesn’t even know if Jack is still breathing anymore because the doctors won’t fucking talk to him because he’s not _family_.

Just that thought alone is enough to drive Kent insane because of course he is; he’s Jack’s family whether Bob and Alicia want him to be or not, whether anyone likes it or not because he fucking loves him and he can’t lose him –

Kent loses himself in the waiting room, watching the hands of the clock rotate.

* * *

“Hey.”

Kent looks up. “Hey, Zimms.”

“What are we going to do? After the draft?”

Kent takes Jack’s hand and intertwines their fingers. “It’ll be fine, I told you. You’ll go first and I’ll go second, and we’ll keep talking.”

“And – if it doesn’t work out? Like that?” Jack sounds so vulnerable, so worried like this. The sound of his voice floating over to Kent in the dark (they’re curled up in his bed together, lights off) makes Kent want to turn and kiss him, but he knows that kisses don’t heal Jack’s concerns. They only push them back for a little while.

“If it doesn’t work, we talk less. It’s fine, Zimms – you’ll always be my friend.”

 _My boyfriend_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t want to consider Jack’s reaction.

“I don’t think I’m good at friends,” Jack snorts, and Kent snickers.

“Make an effort for me,” he kisses Jack on the jaw, to which the other boy hums appreciatively.

They kiss for a moment, and Kent loses himself in the sensation of Jack’s hand on his ass and their lips together. Normally, when they kiss, it’s hot and fast and explosive. This – like just a few of their kisses, only ever a few – feels like home. This feels softer and kinder. And it makes Kent’s heart pound faster than any quick make-out ever could.

* * *

It’s eight in the morning when Kent wakes up. He assumes he slept for around two hours and that he must have passed out, because his head is face down on the table in the waiting room and he has to peel his arms off it.

The thought of Jack, lying alone in a hospital room, comes back to him like a car crash, squeezing all the air out of his chest so that it feels like he is the one that needs to be hospitalised. Kent grips the chair under him, digging his fingers into the hard plastic and wishing selfishly that he wasn’t alone. He wants Jack so badly right now, just to have him _there_ , breathing and conscious and not with a half-empty bottle of pills next to his head.

The worst thing is that Kent knew. He knew Jack had anxiety and that he was on meds. He even knew that he was mixing those meds with alcohol and he said something once and Jack blew up at him. So. He didn’t say anything after that.

Kent knows that being Bad Bob’s son is a bit too much sometimes and it makes sense when he looks at how Jack drinks so much more when they’ve lost than when they’re celebrating, and how his gaze hardens in interviews when his dad is inevitably brought up. Kent has seen it time and time again from the first time he met him to just yesterday, when Jack said that he thought Kent might go first in the draft instead.

“Don’t be stupid,” Kent had said, “You’re going first and that’s a good thing.”

He should have known – but then again, he hardly thought that _Kenny, I think you’re gonna get picked first_ meant _Kenny, I’m gonna fucking kill myself and you’re going first._

Kent goes first in the draft. When he gets his Aces kit the only thing he can think is that the word Parson has never looked so alien on a piece of clothing – it should say Zimmermann.

 

**part two: if you break this lil' heart, it'd be an honour**

Kent starts with the Aces. He survives pre-season camp by keeping his chin up and his heart closed in a box with a Jack-sized key because his boyfriend or his best friend or his _something_ doesn’t want to see or hear from him, and he heard _that_ from none other than Bad Bob himself.

He gets the call on the day of the draft. He’s sitting with the Aces management team when his phone rings and he almost sprints out of the room because _finally_ , some news.

“Congratulations,” is the first thing Bob Zimmermann says to him. Kent thinks it’s fucking stupid but has the courtesy not to say so.

“Thanks.”

“You’re going to do great with the Aces, Kent,” Bob says and Kent’s heart twinges a little because Bob’s accent sounds so similar to Jack’s.

“How is –“

“He’s awake. His vitals are – unstable, but he’s going to make a full physical recovery.”

Kent notices that Bob says nothing about Jack’s mental state. “Can I talk to him?”

“Uh – Kent. I don’t know how to say this, but...Jack’s told me he doesn’t want to speak to you. I’m sorry.”

And Kent just thinks that’s the biggest load of crap he’s ever heard. “That’s – well. Okay. Can you just – tell him I’m sorry if some of it was my fault? I’m really sorry.”

There’s so many other things he wants to say in that moment ( _I love you, do you even love me too, please don’t leave me at the top of the world by myself because I can only do this with you by my side_ ) but he doesn’t. He’s talking to Bob, not Jack.

Bob’s voice softens. Kent’s only properly had a few conversations with the guy but he likes him a lot, reminds him of Jack but in a more fatherly, less nervous way. “I’ll tell him, but Kent, this wasn’t you. Please don’t go thinking it’s your fault.”

“I was with him,” Kent insists, “I found him on the floor with the pills and – sorry. Sorry, I just really hope he gets better soon.”

“I know, son. Me too.”

The conversation wraps up and Kent doesn’t tell Bob Zimmermann that he thinks his son is his soulmate on and off the ice and that this – whatever this mess is – is probably just as much Bob’s fault as Kent’s. He doesn’t tell him any of that, but he thinks Bob knows anyway.

* * *

“Parson! You ready for practice?”

It’s Kent’s first ever _official_ practice with the Aces and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. He is nervous, and it’s worse because he still can’t sleep and Jack’s voicemail is full with his messages so he can’t send anymore.

“Sure,” Kent says casually. The team is in the locker room and Kent is struck by the horrible familiarity of it all because he’s so used to this but he’s so used to this with _Jack_ , who is off in some rehabilitation centre god knows where because _no one is telling him anything_.

Yeah. Kent is pissed.

His captain, Greenie, raises an eyebrow at him. “That sounded pretty casual for a rookie, huh.”

“That’s me. Super casual Kent Parson.”

He grabs his skates and heads for the rink without another word. He’s supposed to be making a good impression, but all his instincts are screaming for him to run and find Jack. All he can really do is play.

* * *

Sometimes Kent looks in the mirror at his pointy nose and his smirk and his relatively small frame. He looks in the mirror and wonders what it would have been like if he’d done anything _except_ hockey. Maybe he wouldn’t be so fucked up over his ex-boyfriend and maybe he would be a lot poorer, still stuck in the shithole that was his childhood with his mom and sister.

Kent looks in the mirror and thinks that the money is maybe not worth it because his life’s gone down the drain. He drinks and he laughs and he goes out and you know what, he thinks he’s a little lucky (in a fucked up way that he knows is not healthy) that he likes girls and guys because at least he’s only hiding half of himself. The problem is, it’s difficult to pay attention to puck bunnies when all he’s got on his mind are tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed Canadian hockey players.

Another problem is that he’s on his fifth tube of concealer for his dark circles which is something Kent never saw coming, because he loves sleeping and lazing around in bed but he just can’t do it anymore. His hands shake all the time but he doesn’t want to see a doctor because – well. Jack’s sort of become a warning for him, against the whole anxiety and meds thing, and Kent can’t handle thinking about that for more than a minute before he wants to cry.

So he doesn’t. He ignores the fact that he has self-diagnosed panic attacks in the shower now and once in his car. Instead, he watches tape until he falls asleep with his phone on his face. He gets up at the crack of dawn and runs and imagines that Jack is by his side. He plays hockey and has to physically stop himself from searching for Zimmermann on the back of another player because _Jack. Isn’t. There._

He hates it.

* * *

It all goes to shit when he has to see his nutritionist because she’s worried about him. Kent gets interrogated about his diet and exactly how much alcohol he’s been drinking and something just snaps.

Suddenly he’s on his feet and he’s shouting, which is not something that he makes a habit of. Kent’s by no means quiet, but he doesn’t yell. Apparently, this is an exception to the rule – his ears are ringing and he doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with himself and Sarah (the nutritionist) looks like she’s torn between pity and horror.

“Kent,” her voice breaks through as he takes a shaky breath during his tirade. Honestly he doesn’t even know what he’s said – some choice words about Jack and how it’s not _fair_ and really Kent wants to punch himself in the face because he’s not a fucking five year old but he sure is acting like one.

“Sorry,” he gasps, and holds on tight to the back of the chair. Kent watches his knuckles turn white as his fingers squeeze the chair and he forces himself to breath, “I’m really sorry.”

“Kent,” Sarah says again. He looks up and is surprised to see that her expression isn’t pitiful at all. Instead it’s kind, searching. “Are you seeing a therapist?”

“What – _no_. I don’t –“ Kent breaks off. Pauses. “I probably should, shouldn’t I?” He gives a laugh that falls flat between them, and he tries to figure out what the hell she must think of him in that moment.

And here’s the thing: Kent is fucking _good_. He’s been doing so well; sleeping marginally better and yeah, he’s drinking more, but something’s got to give. They’re well into the season and everything is going to plan for the Aces because Kent’s streak is off the charts and at this point he’s pretty much a shoe-in for the Calder.

But. He’s doing well because Jack isn’t around to challenge him. He’s probably going to get the Calder because Jack’s not there to beat him to it. Which leaves every single tiny victory of Kent’s tasting bad in his mouth, like flat beer that he never asked for.

“I’m going to give you a number for a sports psychiatrist,” Sarah’s saying, and Kent feels his heart rate go back to normal and it becomes a little easier to breathe in that moment because at least someone _knows_. Even if it’s his nutritionist who now thinks he’s a nutcase.

Kent sits back down in the chair and folds his hands on his lap. “Thank you,” he says, taking the little slip of paper from her and putting it into his pocket.

He locks eyes with her and is struck by the prettiness of her smile. It’s not fake – Kent’s faked enough smiles to be able to tell – and she’s looking at him like he’s not a lost case, which is more than Kent can believe about himself. “If you want to talk, I’m here. And I don’t just mean about your diet.”

Kent thinks he might just take her up on that.

 

**part three: we never look back**

Kent Parson has had enough of feeling sorry for himself.

That’s what he tells himself when he gets a cat, anyway. He’s made the very active, very conscious decision to move on from his moping-over-Jack state and he’s determined to get into an over-Jack state instead.

He doesn’t know what his psychiatrist would think about that if he told her, but he doesn’t really care. Dr. Garner thinks getting a cat is a great idea – she suggested a dog but Kent is not a dog person. At all. – so he goes for it.

She’s small and white and fluffy and a little bit of a monster because she likes clawing at Kent’s arms. He names her Kit Purrson (like Katy Perry did but better) and he fucking loves her.

* * *

It’s easier to feel better when he’s on the ice. It might remind him of Jack, but only the good parts – the patented Zimmermann-Parson no-look one-timers, the customary celly after every win. None of the parties, none of the late night whispers between the two of them. Kent can handle it this way.

Funnily enough, he also gets on a lot better with his teammates when he’s not losing himself in his own thoughts. Kent loves being on an NHL team and he loves the guys he plays with – there’s chirping and laughter and a general comradery that he has missed so badly.

They’re halfway through the season and it’s the holidays. Kent goes home with all the boys’ numbers in his phone. They have a group chat and Kent gets chirped for all the pictures he takes with his mom and he doesn’t care one bit because who wouldn’t be a momma’s boy when his dad ditched them when Kent was five?

The new year rolls around and Kent lies on his bed in the apartment he bought for his mom and his sister just a month after he signed his contract. He looks at the picture of him and his sister on the wall and grins to himself because in this moment, right here, he’s proud of himself. Not in a stuck up, arrogant way, but in a _I’m really glad I made it this far_ way. Hockey has been his dream for as long as he can remember and now it’s his reality.

At twenty minutes past midnight, Kent’s sister falls asleep tucked under his arm on the couch downstairs. He holds her with his right arm and gets out his phone with his left hand.

_Happy New Year, Zimms._

Jack doesn’t write back.

* * *

Kent goes back to Vegas after the holidays and he falls in love with the city. He’d been kind of ambivalent before, when he was still reeling from Jack and the draft, but now he actually explores it and he thinks it’s kind of cool.

He goes to bars with his teammates and to clubs by himself. He makes sure to steer clear of the gay clubs but that doesn’t stop him from looking at the guys going into them and thinking _one day_. Kent gets back into dancing which, to be quite honest, is not something he did a lot with Jack because Jack hated dancing and all Kent ever used to want to do then was sit on Jack’s lap and drink beer. Now he drinks fun cocktails that his teammates think are girly but Kent just thinks they taste fucking fancy. He gets through entire chocolate boxes by himself while watching _Friends_ re-runs on TV before deciding he needs to use the gym.

He goes and he goes and he goes. He even buys coffee for Sarah-the-nutritionist, not because he’s got a crush but just because he wants to make it up to her. She’s funny and smart and Kent thinks she’d be a good friend, even if she is around five years older than him, so he makes the effort.

And at the end of the day when he’s too tired to walk, he crawls into bed with Kit and his phone and spends hours on twitter. He’s got a solid fanbase which he thinks is ridiculous because he’s kind of an asshole but they seem to love it. So he retweets them and replies to them until the Aces’ PR team tells him to chill.

He even stumbles across some god awful stuff about some girl who wants to bang him and it’s really fucking detailed but it doesn’t turn him on at all. He thinks it’s hilarious and he falls asleep with a grin on his face and cat scratches on his arms and he’s better.

* * *

The Aces don’t win the Stanley Cup that year, but Kent gets the Calder. He doesn’t hear from Jack but Bob Zimmermann sends him a text.

 **BOB:** Congrats on the Calder, Kent. We’re very proud of you.

 **KENT:** Thank you

 **KENT:** Say hi to Jack for me.

* * *

Kent hears about Jack going to college through a tiny article on the _Hockey Life_ website. The title reads  Jack Zimmermann to attend mother’s alma mater and below that is a picture of the Samwell Hockey team of the year before.

So Kent looks it up and finds out that Alicia Zimmermann graduated from Samwell University and now Jack’s going to go. The article mentions that he’s going to be playing for the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team which has never made it to the Frozen Four.

Kent stares at his laptop and all he can think is that it’s a fucking shame. But it’s Jack’s life, not his, and really? It’s none of his business.

He still follows the official Samwell twitter anyway.

* * *

Kent would like to say that he’s doing well. Sarah says his eating and drinking habits are perfectly in check, Dr. Garner has cut down on his meds. When he wakes up in the morning he eats granola and dances around his kitchen with Kit Purrson and sometimes he skypes his mom or his sister Sadie.

So yeah, he’s doing well. The only problem is that no matter how many goals and assists Kent gets, he’s still waiting for Jack the whole time.

 

**part four: shades of purple out of red and blue**

The Aces win the Stanley Cup in 2012 when Jack is a sophomore. Kent hasn’t seen him in three years and he can go days without the word Zimms popping up into his head, but it’s always there in the back of his mind, kind of like a cold he can’t shake off.

And he thinks it might help if he goes and sees him. (Or maybe he’s just _pretending_ to think that because deep down he knows that he and Jack might be soulmates but only if they destroy each other in the process.) Either way, he drives down on a Wednesday after morning practice without telling any of his teammates where he’s going.

He gets to Samwell University in the evening and finds Frat Row pretty easily. Kent’s got Google Maps open and he’s rented a car literally just for this. It’s not too fancy but it’s flashy enough that when he drives up, he sees a guy sticking his head out of the window in interest.

Kent waits in the car for a moment, staring at the lines on his palms and wondering how many minutes it’s been since his hands last touched Jack. He doesn’t even know if Jack’s going to be there, he has basically no clue what he’s going to say, but he doesn’t care.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car, stretching. He can feel his heart beating out of time with his footsteps as he approaches what he knows is Jack’s frat house because he’d seen it on their school website.

Jack. In a frat house. Kent almost laughs to himself at the strange hilarity of it all.

The guy who opens the door is taller than Kent, but then so are most hockey players. He’s got a cool moustache that Kent is slightly jealous of because he can’t, for the life of him, even grow a good playoffs beard.

“Woah – Kent Parson?” He asks, bemused.

“Yeah, hey,” says Kent. He thinks about making small talk and then rethinks. “Is Jack here?”

What’s weird is that Jack’s name sounds foreign coming out of his own mouth because he hasn’t said it for so long. The dude raises an eyebrow. “He’s out getting milk. Do you wanna –“ He motions inside. Kent follows.

“I’m Shitty,” he continues.

“What – sorry?”

“Hockey nickname. Want a beer?”

Kent thinks about Jack and his stupid pills and vodka combination and shakes his head. Somehow, he thinks he needs to be sober for this.

The inside of the frat house is surprisingly homey. The floor is kind of sticky, yeah, but there’s a good amount of light and the TV is nice. Kent tries to imagine Jack sitting on the stained couch, watching Kent’s games.

He talks to Shitty for a while about the post-season and he gets congratulated multiple times for the Stanley Cup. Shitty goes off on a tangent about his recent essay about sexuality and Kent is only half listening, because the whole time he’s wondering if Jack has come out to this guy. If Shitty knows about the two of them.

He doesn’t get to ask though, because that’s when Jack enters the room.

Jack looks taller. More muscular; he’s gotten rid of the last bit of puppy fat he still had when they were in the Q. He’s got a plastic bag in his right hand and a house key in his left when he wonders in, the Samwell Hockey team shirt stretched tight over his chest.

Everything stops when he sees Kent. His eyes, impossibly blue, widen and his lips part slightly. Kent can feel his palms getting clammy and he wipes them on his jeans hastily. He barely even notices Shitty slipping out of the room and closing the door silently behind him.

“Kenny,” Jack says. Kent ignores the urge to run to him and never let go. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to – I wanted to see you,” Kent gets out. He takes a step forward, Jack takes two steps back.

Jack’s voice is tight when he speaks. “Why?”

“I –“

“Are you here to – to gloat? Because I really don’t want to hear it, Kenny, I can’t –“

“ _Gloat?_ What are you – fuck, Jack, no. Can I just –“

He rushes forward and reaches out. His hand touches Jack’s and Jack recoils.

“Listen, I know I fucked up,” Jack is saying. He’s muttering and shouting all at the same time, and Kent hates it, he hates that he spent so much time with this boy and then three years apart and suddenly it’s like he never knew him. He can’t read anything on his face except panic.

“...and you’ve gotten everything I ever wanted and I know and you’ve got the Calder and the fucking Stanley Cup so really, Kent, I don’t want to hear it. I really don’t.”

Jack’s chest is heaving now and Kent can feel his throat getting clogged up but he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t.

“So what?” he says, tone verging on angry, “You never want to hear from me again because you’re so scared I’m going to show off? You say that I have everything you ever wanted but that’s fucking bullshit, Zimms, and you know it.”

“What do you –“ Jack’s saying, but Kent can’t breathe. He’s so _angry_.

“I’m fucking losing it, Zimms, and it’s _your goddamn fault_. I found you lying on that bathroom floor with the pills in your hand and your heart fucking stopped in the ambulance and – and –“

Kent’s crying.

“I’m sorry you found me,” Jack says. His next words will ring in Kent’s head for the longest time, echoing like the way Kent’s _I love you’s_ are stuck in his mouth because Jack won’t let him say it.

“I never wanted you to find me.”

* * *

Kent doesn’t want to pine but he does it anyway. He pines for the boy he knows he’s lost, the boy with a bottle in his left hand and a white pill in the other. He misses the way Jack used to smile at him in his drug-induced haze, he misses how he used to kiss Jack so sloppily when he was drunk, all the way down Jack’s body.

In a sick sort of way, Kent likes being angry at Jack. He’s never really done that before, never felt pure fury running through his veins and he feels weirdly vindicated when he goes back to Vegas with his dried tears on his face. He gets himself a big cheeseburger from a drive-thru and tweets the picture. He goes back to his apartment and doesn’t cry at all, he just gives his cat some food and then goes straight out again for a run.

He runs and he runs and he runs and Kent never knows if he’s running to or away from Jack.

* * *

Eventually, Kent goes on some dates. It’s the off-season but he doesn’t stay with his mom because he’s an adult and he thinks he needs to start acting like one.

So he goes out with this girl he meets at a bar in late July. Her name is Vanessa and she’s fucking _brilliant_ , doing some complicated post-grad degree and she’s got an internship at an architecture firm. On their first date she asks him if he wants her to sign a non-disclosure agreement and Kent laughs himself silly because the thought of him being a minor celebrity with personal shit that people would actually spread rumours about – well, it’s just a little ridiculous.

Kent likes Vanessa because she’s honest. She’s got this really great red hair that Kent knows is dyed but he doesn’t give a shit. Her eyes do that funky sparkling thing when she talks about her friends and family and Kent likes – weirdly enough – that she knows fuck all about hockey but she’s willing to learn about it for him.

She comes to a practice and sits on the side and Kent gets chirped _endlessly_ from his teammates. She even joins them for lunch after and in the toilets, his teammate Jason talks to him.

“It’s nice that you brought your girlfriend to lunch,” Jason starts as he’s washing his hands.

Kent zips up his jeans and follows suit. “Yeah? It’s pretty new but – she’s cool.”

“Makes you seem a little more human, Parser,” Jason laughs.

Kent knows he’s joking, and yet he thinks about it that night when he’s kissed Vanessa goodnight at her door and he’s gone back to his quiet apartment. When he was with Jack, back in the Q, he was popular. Friendly and upbeat and everyone knew him. He’d thought he was the same now, but when he really thinks about it he finds that he can’t remember the last time he invited anyone to his apartment. Most of his teammates haven’t ever heard Kent talking about his sister, they haven’t even met his cat.

He kind of gets what Jason means.

 

**part five: whatever i lack, you make up**

Kent’s team doesn’t win the Stanley Cup that year but he doesn’t beat himself up about it since the Habs had the better team ever since some of their players got traded. Kent feels pretty special, actually, because his contract gets renegotiated for another five years and – well. It’s good to know that something in his life is secure.

Things are looking up for him. His sister graduates from college and gets a job and Kent spends approximately two hours on the phone to her talking about nothing but her career and how it’s going. Then, he gets the C. He talks to Greenie who says Kent would make a better Captain than he ever did. His sister rings him straight after it’s tweeted on the Aces official account.

“Kent,” Sadie says to him, “I’m really fucking proud of you.”

He goes home and he cries in the shower and they’re happy tears. When he gets out he flops naked onto his bed and listens to his voicemails: there’s one from his mom and one from half his team “serenading the new Captain” and one from Bob Zimmermann.

“Congratulations on the C, Kent,” Bob’s saying. Kent’s fingers are numb. “We’re all really proud of you.”

Kent wonders if that ‘all’ includes Jack.

* * *

Vanessa breaks up with him after some media nutjob gets into her apartment building and waits for her to come back home. Kent can’t say he blames her honestly – the only reason he doesn’t get stalked is because his doorman is fucking ruthless and it takes around three security checks for a random person to get into his place.

The problem is that Kent hates being single. It makes him reckless; he’ll go drinking on several consecutive nights and hook up with strangers (regardless of gender) without even trying to work out if they know who he is. He just can’t seem to care though, because the fact that he’s bisexual seems like a really minor thing when he’s had five shots in a row and a fair few drinks before that.

And that’s how he ends up outing himself to the entire team one night. It’s post-season and it’s Kent’s birthday and frankly, he doesn’t give a shit when Jason tells him to _Chill, Parser_ because there’s nothing chill about Kent when he’s smashed.

He gets chatting to this guy at the bar and he can feel the entire team’s eyes on him when the pair of them get up and start dancing – which, when he’s inebriated, is more like grinding. Kent is pretty sure he can hear one of them swearing across the room when he kisses the guy full on the mouth and wraps his arms around his neck.

Kent ignores the nervous fluttering in his chest, the voice in the back of his mind that’s telling him to stop. Instead he kisses this nameless guy like he’s a lifeline, until he feels mildly ill and excuses himself to the toilets.

Half the team decides to intervene next to the urinals. Kent figures they’re going to start making a habit of it.

“What the fuck was that?” Jason is the first to say something. Kent’s glad he doesn’t beat around the bush, honestly.

“That, my friend, my buddy,” Kent throws an arm lazily around his shoulder and grins, “Was me being super fucking gay.”

Some of the guys look kind of uncomfortable. The rest just look plain confused.

“So...you’re gay?” asks Lioner.

Kent looks him in the eye. “Bi. I’ll take who I can get, basically.”

Somehow that breaks the tension in the group. Kent doesn’t pay attention to the couple of guys who aren’t laughing – either they’re dicks or they’ve got something to hide. Kent’s just glad some people know, even if he does get chirped all the way home about his hook-ups.

* * *

He misses Vanessa mostly when he’s sitting his apartment alone again. Kent likes having people around, because above everything else he’s talkative. He remembers talking with her endlessly on the phone and it’s not like they’re on bad terms or anything, but still. It sucks that the only sounds in his home come from him and his cat and the washing-machine.

So to rectify this he spends a lot of time watching TV and surprisingly, reading. He gets a Netflix account and lounges around watching really bad films from the nineties that he must have missed while he was in the Q. He reads trashy romance novels and throws them across the room because they’re so stupidly heterosexual. He also spends a fair amount of time listening to livestreams of   Jack’s hockey games, which is something he knows he shouldn’t be doing.

He just can’t seem to stop himself.

Then Samwell loses the Midwest Regionals and Jack isn’t mentioned after that, not for a while.

Until – “Hey, Parser?”

It’s pre-season and Kent’s prepping the team. He likes being Captain more and more as time goes on, almost can’t remember what it was like being Jack’s A.

“Yeah?”

They’re in the locker rooms after practice and Miller (one of his D-men) is looking at him like he can’t decide whether to speak.

“’Sup?” Kent probes.

“Um...it’s, uh, a buddy of mine in Chicago mentioned that Zimmermann’s been going to prospect camps. Wasn’t sure if you knew –“

“Thanks, man,” Kent says. His heart rate’s elevated for reasons entirely separate to the practice he’s just held, “Chicago, huh?”

“Yeah, something about Boston and Montreal. Would have thought he’d go to Montreal, actually, considering.”

“Yeah,” Kent says, but his head’s far away from the conversation – it’s off thinking about the what-ifs. Jack’s got a year left at Samwell and Kent knows that all too well, and he’s been trying not to dream about it but it’s easy to fall into the daydream of Zimms-and-Kenny again. He imagines Jack playing by his side again and lifting the Stanley Cup with him and after that, going to his apartment and kissing Jack hard like he used to...

“Parser?”

Kent gives a jolt, “Sorry, Mills, just thinking. Thanks for telling me.”

* * *

It’s the holiday season and Kent finds himself, somehow, sitting in a rented car and back on the road to Massachusetts. If he wasn’t driving he’d honestly be punching himself in the face because _wow_ , only a fucking idiot would go back to see Jack after what had happened the last time.

And it’s been two years since they last saw each other. Kent is pretty much the same – still has one Stanley and one Calder under his belt. He’s still wearing the same Aces snapback and his cat’s a little chubbier but still. He’s identical to the last time he visited Samwell and all he can do is hope that Jack is similar enough so that he can still recognise the boy he fell in love with.

He’s got a game plan, this time. After the catastrophe of Jack yelling at Kent last time, he’s going prepared. Kent invents a little speech about friendship and the team and how well Jack would do with him and with the Aces. He’s not going to do anything stupid.

Kent goes into the frat house and keeps his head down, trying not to get noticed, which is pretty difficult when he’s surrounded by hockey enthusiasts. He takes a few selfies and squeezes past the people grinding on the makeshift dancefloor, and finally spots Jack leaning against the wall.

All of his plans fly out of the window when he sees a short blond dude practically tucked under Jack’s arm.

Jack doesn’t even look uncomfortable – he looks _happy_ , and maybe Kent’s a bad person but it makes him feel sick to know that Jack no longer needs him to survive a party like he used to. Jack and the blond guy are so obviously flirting and Kent stares at them, from Jack’s hunched form so he can hear the other guy, to the blond cowlick and – fuck, _Zimms has a type_.

“I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t seeing it myself. Jack Zimmermann, at a party. Taking a selfie.”

Kent musters all the swagger in his small frame and puts them behind his words; watches in half fascination, half horror as Jack’s face tightens and he just says _Kent_. No _Kenny_ , no nothing.

“Hey Zimms,” Kent says, one hand in his pocket. In this moment he is infinitely glad for all the media training PR has given him – he just never thought he’d have to use it on Jack. “Didja miss me?”

* * *

Jack practically runs away under the pretence of getting another drink and that in itself is a surprise. Kent gets stuck talking to the small guy who introduces himself as Bitty and/or Eric and Kent hates that he’s so fucking nice.

He tries to look for Jack but people keep coming up to him after that, wanting autographs and drunken selfies and Kent really needs to find Jack but – he’s good at getting distracted. And he’s a people person. Especially when this one girl challenges him to flip cup so he’s suddenly tipsy _and_ desperate to find Jack which is just a terrible combination.

When he finally gets away, he sneaks up the stairs and hunts around for Jack’s room. The lights are off and Kent does not have the patience for this so he marches forwards until he reaches a closed door with a tiny sliver of light peeking out the bottom and – this is it.

His heart is in his mouth and when he knocks, Jack answers.

Jack’s sitting on his bed cross-legged, laptop on his thighs. He closes it silently when Kent comes in.

“How’s the party?” Jack asks.

Kent looks around the room before replying. It looks a little like Jack’s home in Canada, and his room at his billet family’s house in the Q. Kent feels a familiar twinge of nostalgia. He spots a new addition, a big poster that reads _Be Better_ , and he restrains the urge to rip it off the wall.

“It’s – uh – good. Didn’t expect so many people.” Kent stumbles over his words and wishes he’d written his fucking speech down.

Jack gives a half smile and Kent gulps. “Yeah, some of my teammates invited, like, everyone they know. It’s pretty crazy.”

Kent points at himself and then at the bed and, after a second of hesitation, Jack nods. Kent sits and the bedsprings creak under their combined weight and Jack is _right there –_

“What are you doing here, Kenny?”

“I – I came to apologise. About last time. And for everything else.”

Jack sighs. He looks almost like he did just before the draft, a little drunk and a little sleepy and like he wouldn’t mind if Kent kissed him. “It’s not – it’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, but I was jealous.”

“I know. And I’m sorry you felt that way, because – you look like you’re doing well. Better.”

Jack blushes a little and Kent has to stop himself from swearing out loud. “I am. I think – I’m not glad I overdosed, but I’m glad I came here. It’s helped a lot.”

Their toes are touching and Kent feels like he’s been in a goddamn time machine and gone back to 2009 because he’s looking at Jack and his lips and his eyes –

“Zimms,” he breaths, and he’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how Jack leans closer, and closer. He sees Jack’s gaze flicker down to Kent’s lips and back up again and then they’re kissing. Kent doesn’t even know how it happens, he just knows that it _does_ , he knows that it’s not 2009 but it fucking feels like it and that his hands are clutching at Jack’s shirt and his shoulders and Jack’s hands are around his waist and – fuck, he hasn’t been kissed like this in _forever_ and honestly he’s missed this so much, he’s missed Jack and his kisses and his soft eyes and everything about him.

“Kenny,” Jack whispers, and it feels like a romance movie only it’s not, because he’s a famous closeted hockey player who found his best friend unconscious in a bathroom and nothing about that is romantic at all.

They break apart, breathing heavily, and Kent looks at Jack. He’s so different in his Samwell t-shirt and Kent thinks about Bitty downstairs and then pushes the thought out of his mind when he remembers why he came in the first place. “I heard you visited some prospect camps?”

Jack blinks at him owlishly. “Yeah – last summer.”

“Any idea which one yet?”

Jack’s jaw snaps closed and he says, “No. Not sure.”

“...You have no clue?”

“I mean, it could be Montreal; could be LA. I don’t know, okay?”

Kent takes a deep breath and goes for the plunge. “What about Las Vegas?”

He smiles at Jack like he did after they won the Memorial Cup together and Jack purses his lips. “I don’t _know_ , okay? I –“

Kent kisses him again. He knows it’s a bad move but he doesn’t care, he’s fucking desperate now and he needs this, he needs Jack so badly and Jack is kissing him back so it can’t be that bad, right?

“—Kenny, I can’t. I can’t do this.”

Kent is honestly not certain if Jack’s talking about _this_ or if he means being on a team with Kent again. “Jack, come on, just –“

“No.” Jack sounds forceful for a moment and Kent’s taken aback. “I – Kenny –“

Kent’s hands tighten on Jack’s shirt. “Zimms, please just fucking stop thinking for once and listen to me. I’ll tell the GMs you’re on board and they can free up cap space –“

Jack takes Kent’s hands in his and now he’s shaking his head but Kent can’t stop. He’s never been good at this but there’s nothing stopping him, he can’t stop because he _needs,_ “—then you can be done with this shitty team. You and me –“

Kent realises what he’s done a second too late. Jack’s red in the face, fists clenched and scrambling to stand. He towers over Kent and Kent’s never heard him use this tone with him when he says, “Get out.”

Kent tries to say something as he slowly gets to his feet but Jack won’t let him get a word in edgeways.

“You can’t come to my _fucking school unannounced –“_

_“Because you shut me out –“_

_“And corner me in my room –“_

Kent’s furious, too. He’s only trying to help and Jack has to know that, he has to because Kent tells him so but Jack’s not _fucking listening_. He’s still shouting.

“Fuck – JACK!”

Silence, if just for a second before Kent pushes all his energy into whatever words he still has left to say. “What do you want me to say? That I miss you? _I miss you, okay_?” He almost falls into Jack but locks his knees and says again, weaker, “I miss you.”

Jack’s expression is unreadable again and Kent really, really hates this and he never should have come here because he knows what’s about to happen and – “You always say that.”

Kent doesn’t see that coming. He figures he would get a _Kenny, stop_ or another _Leave_ or something. Not _that_.

After that, he doesn’t know what to say. “Huh. Well, shit. Okay. You know what, Zimmermann?” There’s so much venom in his words and the surname and Kent hates himself more and more with every passing second. “You think you’re too fucked up to care about? That you’re not good enough?”

He knows what he _should_ say so that’s what he _won’t_ say. Jack’s hurt him so bad it feels like there’s a gaping hole in his chest and he wants to hurt him back. “Everyone already _knows_ what you are but it’s people like me who still care.”

And maybe that’s Kent’s entire problem: he cares so much that he won’t stop when Jack tells him to. He keeps pushing and shoving and pulling Jack back to him because surely this whole college thing was just a detour, a pause before Jack comes back to him?

“You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right? Oh, _don’t worry_ , just give it a few seasons, Jack. _Trust me_.”

Jack’s shaking now but Kent won’t allow himself to feel disgusted at what he’s done. Not until later.

“G-get out of my room.”

“Fine,” Kent says, aloof and pretending like his world isn’t crashing and burning again. “Shut me out again.” He turns away, turns the door handle.

“And stay – stay away from my team.”

Kent stops, turns. He raises one eyebrow in that horrible, smug way of his and says, “Why? Afraid I’ll tell them something?”

“ _Leave_ , Parse.”

There’s a scuffle outside the door that Kent only really notices once he’s in the corridor and sees Bitty on the floor, looking young and confused. Kent steps around him and puts his snapback back on his head. Clears his throat; shrugs it off.

“Hey. Well. Call me if you reconsider or whatever. But good luck with the Falconers.” Kent says it with his tone perfectly in check, just disparaging enough about the Falcs. He can’t look at Jack when he says his next words but he says them anyway because Kent’s cruel like that. He’s an asshole and he fully admits it. “I’m sure that’ll make your dad proud.”

It’s awful and Kent knows it. It’s also _true_ – Bob would be proud of Jack wherever he ends up. How Jack wants to hear Kent’s words is his own problem, not Kent’s.

He holds onto the railing so he doesn’t fall down the stairs and hears Jack’s door slam shut with a sense of finality. Kent gets to his car and slams his door shut too, and drives to the nearest hotel with the steering wheel in his vice-like grip. When he checks in he punches the wall and then, only then, does he allow himself to crumple to the floor and scream.

 

**part six: keep it to ourselves**

When Kent goes back to Vegas his team seems to realise that something’s up. Maybe it’s because he’s Captain so they’re paying more attention to him now, or it could be that on all of their roadies he now sits in total silence listening to Britney Spears blaring out of his old headphones.

Either way, there’s an intervention in the locker rooms. Again.

“Hey, um – Parse?” This time it’s Flickster that starts it and Kent just knows from the way that everyone stills around him.

He represses a dramatic sigh and puts on a brave face. “Yeah?”

Flickster chews on his lip and Miller nudges him very un-subtly. “Uh, I – _we_ noticed you’ve been a bit – down? – lately. Everything okay?”

Kent considers for a split second. Then, “It’s just personal shit, man. I’ll be fine, but thanks for asking.”

“Parser,” Jason interrupts, “Bro. You know we’re all teammates and we just want you to know you can tell us stuff.”

“Except if it’s heavy sexual stuff,” says Miller jokingly, wrinkling his nose.

“You serious? I want _deets_ , Parse,” Jason says, and the whole team starts laughing. Kent thinks it’s nice to know that they’ve got his back and that he has the option, but as angry as he is with Jack, he would never out him.

“No explicit stuff, sorry guys,” Kent smiles, “I’ll buy you all a round?”

Kent’s not okay at all, but he feels a little better when he’s surrounded by people who actually seem to like him and who he likes too. He goes home just a little more sober than usual that night and curls up on the couch, stroking Kit and watching some ESPN interview with Sidney Crosby.

He falls asleep with his phone on his face and yeah, he’s fucking lonely, and sometimes he has these odd moments where he thinks Jack actually has the better end of the stick being in college and having friends because when Kent wakes up in the morning, there’s no one anywhere near him. He’s on top of the world but there’s a Jack-shaped hole right beside him that hasn’t been filled for the longest time.

* * *

He _swears_ he doesn’t mean to but Kent finds Eric Bittle’s twitter. He spends exactly forty-seven minutes skim-reading it before he decides to just cut his losses and follow the guy, even though it means Bitty might tell Jack which could potentially go badly. Kent stares at some of the tweets about Jack and feels a familiar ache because really, he’s exactly the same.

 **Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease** 3/28/2015 17:23:15

Dex: on a scale from 1 to 10, how much are we gonna win

Jack: 20

But then he’s really not because Kent’s not there and it’s been years but he does still feel like they belong together. Everyone _used_ to think that too but now it feels like Kent’s the one who’s been left behind even though he has a fucking Stanley Cup but –

 **Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease** 3/7/2015 18:26:56

I’m just down in the kitchen with Rans and Jack and in comes–

Shitty: JACQUES Laurent Fucking Look At That Beautiful Stubble ZIMMERMANN.

Suddenly Kent’s reading the whole thing and he even finds himself grinning at parts of it and outright laughing at their antics which is really fucking depressing when he thinks about it because he’s sitting alone in his apartment stalking some guy on twitter – so he doesn’t think about it. Instead he scrolls and favourites those two tweets about himself.

 **Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease** 2/28/2015 15:11:25            

Dex just asked Jack if Kent Parson is coming to his and Shitty’s graduation.

I’m gonna keep flipping these eggs.

 **Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease** 2/28/2015 15:15:42            

Jack: haha well…it depends on if the aces make the playoffs

Dex: that’s kinda like a win win, right? for you?

Jack: yeah

It makes his heart hurt a little but Kent doesn’t care because it also makes him feel a little better to know that he hurt Jack but Jack’s still okay.

 **Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease** 2/24/2015 14:31:19

Holster: Guys, Jack loves us! SAY YOU LOVE US!

Jack: I love you.

#TeamBreakfast

 **Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease** 2/5/2015 19:19:29

Me: [sees jack across River quad]

Me: [waves]

Jack: [waves]

Jack: [walks across quad]

Jack: [jumps over snowbank]

Jack: do you want coffee

Kent may or may not watch a few of Eric’s vlogs after that. It’s painfully obvious that he has a crush on Jack and Kent is certain it’s mutual. He imagines this tiny Southern baker kid going on a date with his ex-best friend or whatever the hell they were and Kent has to admit they’d make a cute couple, regardless of the bitter taste in his mouth at the thought.

* * *

The Samwell Men’s Hockey Team comes second in the Frozen Four. Just over a week later, Jack signs with the Providence Falconers.

Kent punches his pillow instead of the wall because he doesn’t want to break any bones.

* * *

**K Parse @kentparsonofficial** 04/20/2015 12:34:25

Congrats #JackZimmermann for signing with @NHLFalconers! Welcome to the NHL.

As much as Kent wishes Jack was playing with him, he’s still proud. Jack’s made it.

* * *

They’re on a roadie and Kent’s sharing a room with Jason, as per usual. He could request a single seeing as he’s Captain, but out of everyone on the team he’s probably closest to Jason and he likes the company.

The pair of them are lying on their respective beds just talking about the match the next day. There’s a lull in the conversation, and then –

“Anyone special watching the game for you?”

Kent laughs. “If you mean my mom and my sister on TV, then sure.”

“I mean significant other, man,” Jason says.

He sighs. He doesn’t know if Jack or the rest of his college team watch his games, he has no clue if they care. “No,” Kent says, “You?”

“Just my parents. The NHL can be a lonely place, eh?”

Kent turns his head and locks eyes with Jason. “Yeah,” he nods, “It really is.”

* * *

It’s Kent’s birthday and Jack is not at his house. He’s not at Samwell and he’s not in Providence: he’s in Madison. Kent knows this because he’s been practically stalking Eric Bittle on twitter and youtube and to be quite honest he’s tempted to message the guy and tell him to be more subtle, because it’s pretty fucking obvious that he’s dating Jack.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it. On the one hand there’s this fury that’s bubbling up inside of him, a bright ugly green shade of jealousy that he can barely control. Then again, he’s happy for Jack, in a sort of twisted, fucked-up way that makes Kent wonder if he should go back to seeing that psychiatrist.

Either way, he’s affected. And he really doesn’t want to be anymore; he wants to have no emotional reaction to whatever (or whoever) Jack Zimmermann is doing but he can’t. It’s like a gravitational pull and it seems to be a one-way only thing, like Jack is the northern point and Kent is the compass needle.

It’s the Fourth of July and it’s Kent’s twenty-fifth birthday, but he thinks about Jack the same amount he did when he turned nineteen.

* * *

Kent knows what he needs and he knows he’ll probably never get it: _closure_. He thought he’d have it when he went to the party at Samwell, but all he came home with was a bad temper and some fresh wounds.

He wanted to tell Jack what he’d been bottling inside of him for six years and in a way, he did. Kent told him that he wanted him back on his team and that he missed him – but all Jack said was _you always say that_. Which is sad because it’s true; Kent said it in every single one of the voicemails he left on Jack’s phone after the draft. He said it when he went to Samwell the first time.

He still wants to say it, but he wants Jack to say it back. Wants him to mean it.

* * *

Kent never lets his thoughts about Jack affect his hockey. They beat the Bruins into the playoffs which is a fucking miracle, honestly, but then they get beaten out by the Rangers. It sucks, but he likes the offseason because he gets to laze around in the sun, go out with his team, and eat stuff that his nutritionist would never normally allow.

It’s on Jack’s birthday that Kent finally decides to call him. He’s eating microwave mac and cheese which never fails to turn him into a nostalgic sap so he grabs his phone and walks to his room where he gets the best signal. Jack’s still in his favourites list even though he hasn’t spoken to him on the phone in _years_ and Kent holds his breath as he dials.

It goes to voicemail. Kent isn’t surprised – honestly, he’s more shocked that Jack hasn’t changed his number since the overdose – and he’s a little relieved because he doesn’t really know how to have a conversation with Jack without being able to read his facial expressions. There’s a beep and Kent has to take a second before he speaks.

“Uh. Hey, Jack. It’s Kent. I just wanted to say –“ he pauses because he doesn’t actually know. “Happy Birthday, Zimms. When – if – you’re free, call me back. Only if you want to.” He lets his breath go and shuts his eyes for a moment, “Bye.”

 

**part seven: forget all the shooting stars**

It’s preseason and Felix Lopez gets transferred to the Aces from the Pens. Kent loses Miller, which sucks because he’s a great D-man and an even better friend. But Lopez is _fantastic_.

The first practice with him goes so well that Kent starts to think that a second Stanley Cup might actually be plausible with this guy on the team. His head’s spinning when he’s in the shower, a hundred different plays coming to mind, so much so that when he’s towelling off and getting dressed he barely even notices Felix saying something.

“Sorry, man, what didja say?” Kent says, looking apologetic.

Felix looks a little hesitant. “I’m doing a – housewarming, I guess? You’re invited, if you’re free.”

“Tonight?” Kent grins, “I think I can let my cat chill by herself. Where’re you living?”

Felix writes down his new address for him and Kent would be lying if he said he didn’t stop to look at the other guy’s strong hands holding the pen.

“See you then,” Kent says. They lock eyes for a moment and Kent is insanely jealous of the light covering of stubble across Lopez’s jaw, but he also kind of wants to run his tongue across it –

 _Uh oh_.

“Great,” says Felix, and Kent knows he has a very sudden and unfortunate crush on his newest player.

* * *

Jack calls back the day after Kent leaves the voicemail. Kent’s just come back from the rink and he’s dumping his stinky gear in the wash when his phone rings; he takes one look at the caller ID and swears. Kit Purrson meows at him as he fumbles with his phone for a second before pressing answer.

“Hello?”

His chest feels tight and he’s sure Jack can tell.

“Hey, Kenny.” Jack’s voice is sharp and soft all at the same time, like he’s weary but willing to give Kent a chance.

“Hey, Zimms.”

There’s a pause. Then, the two of them speak at the same time:

“Listen, Jack –“

“Kent, I –“

They stop. “You go first,” Jack manages.

Kent represses a sigh. “Okay. Uh – how was your birthday?”

“Good. I’m actually in Montreal with my parents. How was yours?”

Kent hesitates, before deciding to be one hundred percent honest. “Lonely, but okay. Kit kept me company.”

“...That’s your cat, right?”

There was a time when that wouldn’t have even been a question.

“Yeah. Listen, Zimms, I wanted to say – I mean, the reason I called –“ Kent breaks off. The hand holding his phone is shaking so he puts it down on the table and leans down to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it to Jack since the overdose, but it’s the first time Jack responds in the exact same way. “I’m sorry too, Kenny. I – sorry. You go.”

“No, what were you going to say?”

Kent really hates how stunted this conversation is. He has vivid memories of Jack, high as a kite and with no filter, whispering a stream-of-consciousness into his ear.

Jack speaks and his voice sounds certain, for a change. “I’m sorry that I pushed you away. It was what I needed so I’m not going to say I entirely regret it, but...I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

Kent waits to see if he’s going to say anymore. Then, he says, “I’m sorry too. That I hurt you when I came to Samwell those two times. I’m sorry if it was my fault – the overdose.”

“It wasn’t.”

And that’s not the first time Kent’s heard it, that Jack didn’t almost die because of him, but it’s the first time Jack’s ever said it, which makes all the difference in the world.

“Jack – was it deliberate?”

Jack sighs and his breath sounds like air conditioning over the phone. “I don’t know, Parse. It was a mixture of stuff – it was the pressure mostly, and the anxiety. I knew I shouldn’t have been mixing them – the pills – with alcohol but I didn’t care at that point. I – I was reckless and there was definitely a part of me that wanted it all to stop, wanted it to be over. But I didn’t mean to actually – you know. Kill myself.”

Kent gulps. “Um. That’s good. I guess?”

Jack laughs and Kent stares at his phone because Jack hasn’t laughed at something he’s said in _years_. “So when I came to Samwell the first time and you said you never wanted me to find you –“

Jack groans. “I was in a bad place. I guess what I meant was I didn’t want you to find me _like that_ , half dead.”

“Okay.” Kent says, and then again, “Okay.”

He picks up the phone and holds it to his ear.

“Zimms, I want to be totally honest with you right now.”

“You should be,” Jack says, “I can handle it.”

“Good. So what I really want to say is I think I’ve been holding on to this idea of you and me for the longest time so when I came to Samwell those two times I – well. I don’t know what I _expected_ but I guess I thought it would be like we were when we were in the Q. And it wasn’t.”

“We both changed, Kenny,” Jack says, “And it sucks, eh?”

Kent cracks a smile, “Yeah, Zimms. It does. I think when you were at Samwell I just kinda – I dunno, _assumed_ – that you’d come back to me. That we’d do the whole Zimmermann-Parson thing again. So when it didn’t happen and I realised – that’s why I snapped.”

“I know, Kent. I get the snapping thing. It’s immature but we do it anyway.”

“Yeah. I guess I forget I’m a grown man when I’m with you or something,” Kent laughs a little, “But it’s not an excuse. So I’m sorry for what I said, and you know I’m proud of you. For getting to the NHL.”

“I – thanks, Kenny.” Jack’s voice sounds wobbly and Kent _really_ hopes he’s not crying. “I’m proud of you too. For the cups and for making it when I couldn’t.”

And Kent wants to say it doesn’t matter, that Jack’s made it too, but he can’t. It’s not entirely true – Jack’s made it but he’s here late and hockey is not exactly a long-term career.

“I really want to hug you right now,” Kent says.

Jack laughs, “I wouldn’t be opposed to that. But, Kent –“

“In a friend way, Jack. Chill. I know you aren’t single.” He’s also thinking about Felix and his pretty hazel eyes but Jack doesn’t need to know that just yet.

Jack pauses. “How did you know?”

“I figured you’re with that small blond dude, right?” Kent tries to be nonchalant – like he doesn’t know exactly who Eric Bittle is.

“I – fuck, Kenny, how –“

“Just a good guesser. You know my gaydar is on point.”

“What. What does that even mean.”

Kent snorts. “You telling me your boyfriend hasn’t taught you twenty-first century slang yet? Tell him I’m ashamed of him.”

“Uh,” Jack laughs, “Probably not a great idea. He’s not that keen on you, after – you know.”

Kent runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah, I know. Gonna have to make a good second impression sometime, huh.”

“Yeah.” Jack says. There’s silence for a moment and Kent is amazed at how well this conversation has gone when Jack says, “Kenny, I’m really glad we talked. We haven’t always been the healthiest of pairs –“

“Zimms, come on. We’re wicked on the ice.”

“Yeah, I know. But off the ice –“

“I get it.” Kent sighs, “We can be bad for each other in a lot of ways. But I still miss you.”

“I miss you too. I used to be in love with you and now – I don’t know. I still love you but it’s different.”

Kent smiles. “Me too. How does friends sound?”

It’s sounds pretty amazing to him. It’s been years and maybe Kent’s still a little more hung up on Jack than he’d like to be, but. He can do friends.

“Friends would be good. Really good,” Jack says. Kent hears movement and someone – Bob, probably – shouting something in Québécois. “Hey, Kenny, Papa wants me so I’ve got to go. But I’ll – we can talk soon?”

“Say hi to your parents for me. And yeah, soon.”

“Cool,” Jack says, which is so un-Jack that Kent grins. “Bye, Kenny.”

“See you on the ice, Zimms.” (A little presumptuous, sure, but Kent’s hopeful about both their chances.)

Jack hangs up and Kent puts his phone down. He walks to the living room and lies on the couch, hugging a cushion and grinning like an idiot. For the first time, he’s thinking that maybe him and Jack not being the same as they were in the Q is a good thing. Maybe it sucks that they aren’t on the same team, but – this. This is good.

Kent spends the rest of the day feeling like he’s floating and it’s when he’s eating lunch and scrolling through the Falconers twitter that he realises he’s not in love with Jack anymore. It’s like Jack says – he still loves him, but not in the same way. It doesn’t feel like his lungs are collapsing when he thinks of Jack with Bittle, and it doesn’t hurt to have him so far away.

Kent’s pretty fucking happy about it.

* * *

He gets to the party with a bottle of wine in hand and his favourite pink snapback on, which he gets chirped for but whatever. He sits in between Jason and Flickster on the couch, which is nice because he’s directly across from Felix.

And, well. Kent’s not sure, but he’s getting _looks_ from the newbie.

They eat pizza (with vegetables on top because they can at least pretend to follow their diet plans) and talk hockey until one of them brings up some PR event they all have to attend the following week.

“Got a hot date, Lopez?”

Felix rubs at his neck and gives an embarrassed smile. “Nah. Been single for a while.”

“Tell us your type, yeah?” says Lioner, leaning over with a mischievous look on his face, “We’ll set you up.”

“I – uh – thanks, but I’m good. Really,” Felix insists, and eventually the guys drop it after Jason steps in with a story about _his_ last terrible blind date courtesy of Lioner.

“Honestly, bro, considering you’re married you should really be better at this,” Jason elbows Lioner, who does nothing but shrug and swig his beer.

“Some of us just have more game than others,” Flickster chirps, “Lions, you can set me up next.”

“Dude, after Parser! The guy’s been single for like –“

“For like a century, I know,” Kent says, rolling his eyes. Truthfully it sucks and the guys know it does, and he appreciates their efforts but is way too proud to say it. “What’s the big deal? Hook-ups are easier.”

“Parse,” Jason groans, “Your life can’t revolve around hockey and sex, man.”

“And the cat,” Flickster jumps in, and Kent really wishes he was in bed right now. “Don’t forget about Kit Purrson.”

Everyone laughs and Kent does too, but really he’s eyeing Felix surreptitiously when he says, “Not gonna lie – it’d be nice to be in a relationship. But I’d really like to _know_ them first, you know?”

He gets ribbed for being a hopeless romantic and needing to get his head out of trashy rom-coms but Kent’s looking at the quirk of Felix Lopez’s lips and decides he doesn’t care at all.

 

**part eight: you don’t have to say i love you to say i love you**

Kent doesn’t talk to Jack that much but they do text. An average conversation looks a little like this:

 **KENT:** yo, zimms

 **JACK:** Hi, Kenny. How was practise?

 **KENT:** dude it’s like 3am in pvd why r u awake

 **KENT:** practise was good. shoved jason over for being a dick

 **JACK:** Can’t sleep. What did he say?

 **KENT:** so fuckin nosy :p

 **KENT:** idk something about me being small

 **JACK:** You are small.

 **JACK:** For a hockey player

 **KENT:** shut the fuck up zimms ur all giants

 **KENT:** also go to sleep :)

It’s weird in that way that all new things are for him but it’s nice. Kent likes the idea of him and Jack being friends in that solid, supportive way that they hadn’t been before. They’re in separate conferences for the NHL so he doesn’t know if he’s going to end up seeing Jack on the ice, but that’s okay.

Kent’s okay.

He throws himself into hockey with a newfound vigour that he guesses he must have lost somewhere in the past two years because suddenly he’s playing better than he ever has before. His point streak is high and he’s drinking less and he even forces himself to go back to that psychiatrist just in case.

Kent’s better than okay – he’s _great_.

* * *

Kent comes home from practice and stretches on his unmade bed one morning mid-October. They have a game tomorrow and he’s feeling confident and thinking about making some lunch when his doorbell rings.

He’s a little grouchy because people don’t usually ring his doorbell, they text first to give him a warning so he can get his lazy ass off his bed. Still, he pulls a t-shirt over his head and goes to the door, opening it with one hand and smoothing down his stupid cowlick with the other –

It’s Felix, holding a box of pizza in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other.

“Hey, Parse,” he says, and he looks self-consciously at the floor for a second before his eyes flick up to Kent again, “Want to eat lunch?”

“Uh,” says Kent. He’s still thinking about how bad his hair must look when he says, “Definitely. Here or...?”

“I was thinking we could, um. Go outside? It’s pretty warm today.”

And that’s how Kent ends up in the nearby park with Felix Lopez (who recently gained the nickname of Filo – something to do with a pastry joke but Kent’s not bothered) on what he really fucking hopes is a date.

They eat pizza and drink beer and it’s really nice, because it’s fall in Las Vegas so it’s good weather and no one’s coming up to them because it’s daytime and this city doesn’t give many shits about hockey. Kent might be overanalysing but he’s pretty sure that Felix is leaning too close to be on a bro level and he’s wondering if he should just go for it and kiss the guy, but finds himself actually enjoying the conversation and not thinking about fucking him instead.

Well. Not too much.

“...so I went for it and actually got the puck past Jamie Benn and I’m telling you I’ve never had a bigger fanboy moment. Like ever,” Felix’s saying and there’s something about him that Kent thinks is just really cute.

He doesn’t know who to talk to about it.

* * *

Kent doesn’t _officially_ date Felix. But they might as well be in a relationship, because he sees him all the time; learns all about his family over in Florida and how they came from Mexico when he was three years old, his mom and his dad and his little brother. Kent learns all about his pre-game rituals (featuring a long shower and a heck of a lot of sushi) and what he looks like when he’s drunk, when he’s sleepy, when he’s mad.

He’s got a serious crush on this guy by the time it gets to around March and he’s pretty sure the whole team knows, from the way Kent’s practically hanging off his arm at drinks and how he laughs the hardest at all of Felix’s jokes. It’s not perfect – they argue like any two people on the same team would, and Kent really, really wants to kiss him but he’s scared.

Fucking terrified, actually. They sit in bars and Felix leans too close and Kent thinks about doing it. Just leaning in further and pressing their lips together. He can’t do it because he thinks about his career and isn’t that so stupid, Kent “I do whatever I want” Parson is too scared to kiss a guy because of how the rest of the world would react.

That’s not all. There’s a part of him that he keeps well hidden, a part that only comes out when he’s alone and his bedroom is dark. Whispers in his head about Jack, about how good it felt to be with him but how sour it ended up. Whenever he wakes up in the morning in a cold sweat, still reeling from the memory of Jack, unconscious in front of him, he knows it’s silly. He knows that Felix isn’t Jack – they’re completely different people, in both looks and personality. He wasn’t worried about this when he was with Vanessa, but he knows it’s different when you’re with a guy on your hockey team. In the NHL.

So Kent doesn’t make any moves. He plays hockey, wins a lot of matches and loses a few. He calls his mom and skypes his sister. He texts his team: Felix, Jason, Flickster, Greenie and all the other people he knows. Kent sticks to his diet plan and totally abuses his cheat days, he sits alone in his apartment with Kit Purrson and buys the cat outfit after outfit because she’s become a social media sensation. Sometimes he texts Jack just to check up (he’s doing well, fucking smitten with Bitty, Kent tells him he thinks the Falcs have a good chance at winning and he’s not lying).

Kent goes about his life and there’s not a day that goes by that he doesn’t think about Jack – his big, blue eyes, the shade of red his face goes both when he’s turned on and when he’s angry, his hands in Kent’s. But he thinks about Felix more – his broad smile, how he squints when he aims the puck, how his body looks under the shower in the locker rooms.

He doesn’t say anything.

 

**part nine: sickeningly sweet like honey**

It’s May and there’s one of those rare breaks when the Aces don’t have a game. The Falconers do and Kent doesn’t think twice before booking a flight to Providence – he only remembers to text Jack twenty minutes before he’s set to leave his apartment.

 **KENT:** hey, is it ok with u if i come to the game tmrrw?

 **JACK:** My game?

 **KENT:** yeah. i got nothing to do and want to size up the competition haha

He’s regretting that message _a lot_ as soon as he sends it, but Jack’s reply is surprisingly positive.

 **JACK:** Ok. Do you need a ticket?

 **KENT:** got it covered. see u after the game?

 **JACK:** Ok. You can come with the team but just so you know Bittle’s going to be there.

Kent chews on his lip and thinks about how to reply.

 **KENT:** cool. we’re gonna be bffs no worries

 **JACK:** I’m not worried for him. I’m worried for you.

 **KENT:** is that a chirp? fuck u zimms i can take on ur baker boy no probs

 **KENT:** does he like wearing snapbacks

* * *

Kent lands in Providence and doesn’t know what to do with himself once he’s checked into his hotel room. He wonders around and tries to imagine Jack sitting in cafés or running around the park, and finds himself taking tons of pictures and sending them to Felix just because.

No one recognises him when he gets lunch which is a blessing of sorts because Kent can’t be dealt with the media asking him about how he and Jack are getting along these days. Still, that doesn’t stop them when he goes to the Providence rink and gets in the VIP queue because hell kind of – descends on him. Suddenly he’s being swamped with microphones and the security guards are doing fuck all about it.

He’s about to answer a question about what he thinks of the Falconers’ line-up because he thinks that’s a safe one when someone shouts “It’s Bad Bob Zimmermann!”

Here’s the thing: Kent really likes Bob Zimmermann. He’s a great player and an even better dad to Jack and he’s basically like the father Kent never had, but he’s still nervous because he hasn’t seen the dude for years – Bob came to the match Kent played in Montreal last year and all the years before that, and sure he gets a friendly tweet or text every so often, but still. It’s weird seeing him properly, when both of them are there for Jack like they had been back in the hospital before the draft.

“Kent Parson!” Bob somehow manages to weave his way through the hordes of photographers and journalists and Kent is silently impressed. “How’ve you been?”

Kent breaks out into a smile and everyone’s taking pictures but he ignores them, instead wholeheartedly accepting Bob’s hug. It’s really fucking nice because Kent hasn’t been hugged since he visited his mom a month ago and he doesn’t think his cat really counts.

“Good,” he says truthfully, “You? Where’s Alicia?”

Bob laughs. “You always were a fan of hers, eh Kent? She’s getting me a snack, actually, it’s my cheat day. But we’re all good. Jack included.”

“You know you don’t need cheat days, right?” Kent laughs, “I swear you Zimmermann boys are too committed.”

“Alicia likes me fit,” Bob shrugs, “Apparently it’s better for my health, whatever that means.”

They talk hockey for a while, about Jack with the Falconers and Kent’s point streak. Alicia arrives with a big bag of chips and another bag of popcorn and nearly drops both when she sees Kent, squeezing him in a hug and Kent is astounded at her strength considering how slim she is.

The media eventually clears off after the security guards get their acts together and Alicia turns to Kent with a smirk on her face and he knows what’s coming.

“So, Kent,” she starts, “Any special person in your life we should know about?”

“Nope, not at the moment,” Kent says, “Just focusing on hockey.”

“You know, that’s what Jack used to say. Before.” Bob says, munching on his popcorn and giving Kent such a knowing look that Kent feels heat rush to his cheeks.

“You should go for it, whoever it is,” Alicia adds on, and Bob winks at him. Kent wonders how Jack copes with such nosy parents, honestly.

He stumbles through a subject change that is pretty clumsy for someone with as much media training as him, but the Zimmermanns don’t even blink, they just nod along as Kent starts talking about his team and their next game.

That doesn’t stop Kent from thinking about what they said throughout the whole game. His eyes are on Jack and the ice, but his head’s back in Vegas.

* * *

The Falconers win against the Stars 4-2. It’s a good game and Kent thinks he may have gone partially deaf with the amount of screaming from the people sitting on his left and right sides (Alicia and Bob, respectively) but he has a really good time. The three of them go down to wait for Jack after, standing in the corridor outside the changing rooms.

Bittle’s already there. He’s got a backpack slung over his shoulder and there’s a box that Kent figures contains some of his infamous pie by his feet. His head’s in his phone when Kent and Jack’s parents arrive but he looks up and sees them, smiling like he’s the sun.

Then he sees Kent. And Kent’s pretty good at reading people, he thinks, so he can tell when Bittle’s smile changes from genuine to a little forced, but it’s clear that he was warned by Jack. He says “Hey, y’all!” to the three of them and Alicia ruffles his hair and Bob pats his shoulder. They start recapping the game with Bittle who’s all too eager to talk about Jack and Kent stays silent, watching how the three of them interact and how Bittle literally seems to glow when he talks about Jack.

It’s a little ridiculous, but also really cute. Kent can’t seem to begrudge him even a little bit.

Jack emerges from the changing rooms before the rest of the team and barely gives a second glance to his parents and Kent. He simply looks left and right in the corridor and then swoops down to plant one on Bittle and something in Kent’s chest twinges. They break apart and Bob is grinning really wide but Kent looks at Alicia and she’s already watching him like she’s worried about him.

Kent puts on a brave face. “Great game, Zimms.”

Jack smiles, (not the smile he used to give him in the Q, but an alert one. Happier.) “Thanks, Kenny. Glad you came.”

“We’re still gonna take you down, huh?” Kent says and then Jack is hugging him which is – well. Kent’s not going to lie, there’s a little bit of him that feels like crying right now because he hasn’t hugged Jack in _so long_. He lets his eyes flicker shut for a second and feels a breath on his shoulder before Jack steps back into line with Bittle, who looks a mixture of pissed off and curious.

Kent doesn’t care at all. He looks at Jack and smiles and Jack smiles back and right in that moment – it’s a fucking cliché but it’s true. Right in that moment Kent thinks that everything’s finally looking up for him.

* * *

The entirety of the Falconers team – bar Jack – are practically star-struck by Kent, which he thinks is hilarious because they’re all in the NHL together. Then he remembers how it felt to be in the Aces back in 2009 when they were an expansionist team like the Falcs are so he shrugs and takes selfies with them all.

Unsurprisingly, they all seem to be best friends with Bob and Alicia and Kent’s sure he hears one of them ask them to come to post-drinks with them before they leave. Kent follows the Falcs and Bittle and the players go to do a few answers for the press which leaves Kent standing outside with Bittle.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“How’re you?” Bittle asks him and Kent thanks every deity possible for this guy’s Southern hospitality because he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to start the small talk.

“Good, good. Haven’t seen you in a while – everything good at Samwell?”

Bittle narrows his eyes for a second like he’s searching for something menacing under Kent’s words and then shrugs. “Yeah, it’s all good. I’m a junior now, which is stressful but nice, I guess? It’s still a bit weird without Jack around, though.”

Kent thinks about saying something like _I know how that feels_ or _Jack’s still there for you_ or something like that. Instead:

“Hey, um. Bittle – or do you go by Eric? Anyway, I think we got off to a bad start and I just want you to know –“ Kent furrows his eyebrows because he’s honestly not sure _what_ he wants to say. “I’m happy for you. You and Jack.”

The poor guy looks fucking confused when he says, “Uh, thanks? It’s Bitty, or Eric, whatever you want. I just – I didn’t like what you said to Jack at the epikegster. It wasn’t – Jack reacted badly. Obviously. And I realise there’s a whole lot of –“ He waves his hands in the air vaguely, “History. Between you two. I’ve seen tape of you guys and it’s impressive stuff and he’s told me the outline but not everything.”

Kent attempts to absorb that, and tries to formulate a reply so he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth. “I get that. I’m sorry for what I said and Jack knows that, and I’m pretty sure we’re all good now but anyway. I’m sorry that was your first impression of me because it was kind of a shit one.”

Bitty looks kind of apologetic now which is not what Kent was aiming for, but oh well. “I thought badly of you for ages and now you’re showing up being all nice, huh Mister?”

Kent laughs and the tension eases a little bit. “Can we start again? I know Zimms has a good judge of character and it seems like you two are getting pretty serious and I – well. I still care about him –“ Kent rushes on when Bitty bites his lip, “Not in the romantic way, but. Like you said, we’ve got a history.”

“Jack told me once that the two of you owe each other a lot of apologies,” Bitty says, “And if you’ve forgiven each other then I’m good with you too.”

“Cool,” Kent smiles. “So, I kind of have something for you. It was gonna be a joke but now it’s more of a – friendly thing? I dunno,” he’s barely done talking when he pulls a new Aces snapback out of his bag. It’s standard merchandise that Kent picked up just because he thought it would be kind of funny to see Bittle’s reaction and _Jack’s_ reaction to that, but all Bitty does is beam at him.

Bitty puts it on his head backwards the same way Kent does and grins. “So, you think Jack is gonna be weirded out by us looking like twins?”

Kent adjusts his own snapback on his head. “What can I say? The guy has a type.”

* * *

They all end up in a bar talking about the game and half the Falconers just want to talk to Kent and he’s got to be honest, he doesn’t mind the attention. He knows Jack and Bitty’s hands are intertwined under the table and it’s when he says goodbye to the two of them at the end of the night that he knows. The twinge in his chest when Jack kissed Bitty after the game wasn’t because Kent’s jealous of Bitty – he’s jealous of _them_. Of what they have.

* * *

Kent gets back to Vegas two days later and he tells the PR team that he wants to make an official statement.

 

**part ten: new clichés**

“Kenny, are you sure? I just don’t –“

“Zimms, I’m fucking sure. Like, never been so sure about anything. But if you don’t want me to then I won’t.”

Kent’s standing in his kitchen, stirring pasta with one hand and holding his phone to his cheek with the other.

Jack sighs over the phone. “It’s not that I don’t want you too, I’m just worried about the reaction. It’s really brave but I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

“Listen, Zimms. You and Bitty – you got something really good. Okay? And eventually – you _know_ eventually – you’re gonna want to come out. Or you’re gonna fucking become Jack Bittle and then everyone will know anyway.” He ignores Jack’s spluttering down the phone and continues. “And it would probably be nice for you two, for you not to have to be the first publically out player in the NHL. Especially after how they grilled you about the overdose –“

“Wait, so you’re doing it for me? For me and Bitty? Because that’s nice, but don’t –“

“ _No_ , Zimms, I’m doing it for me. For me and –“ Kent waves his spoon in the air, splattering tomato sauce on his counter. “For the community. Because the NHL needs some fucking diversity.”

There’s a pause and Kent can practically hear the cogs turning in Jack’s head even though they’re miles apart. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay,” Jack repeats, “You should come out. If you want to.”

“What – are you serious?” Kit meows from her position on the table and Kent raises his eyebrows at her as if to say _What the fuck, right?_

“Yeah, I mean – as long as it’s you doing it for you. Because you want to.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’m – Zimms. As long as you don’t mind. You know there’s gonna be questions.”

Jack laughs down the phone, “I’m pretty used to the Spanish Inquisition when it comes to the media. And by now I think I know how to hide stuff.”

Kent winces a little at that but he smiles anyway. “Cool. I’ll – well. You’ll see me in the news, I guess.”

“Yeah. Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck. I – I’m proud of you.”

* * *

The press conference was surprisingly chill, actually. PR had already known he was bisexual for years, so apparently they’d already had a contingency plan in place. Kent thinks it’s depressing that that was necessary but he’s really just glad that they’re supporting him because he’s definitely had a few bad dreams where some big straight dude in a suit tells him that they don’t let his kind play.

He comes out on a Tuesday to a room full of reporters that scribble down and record his every word and he thinks it’s a little pointless because it’s all going to be on youtube in the next ten minutes anyway. But he makes his speech (something about him being bisexual but it obviously not affecting his hockey, how the NHL needs to work on homophobia in the media, on and off the rink). He even answers exactly ten questions before the PR team shepherds everyone out of the room – all about him as “an inspiration”, “a gay icon” – and that’s also ridiculous because Kent just really likes fucking girls and guys and actually, why is that such a big deal? (He doesn’t say that, obviously.)

He drives home alone and calls his mom and his sister before turning off his phone. They knew already, but they’re happy for him. Kent falls asleep with Kit on his stomach and doesn’t look at his laptop until the next day.

The headlines the morning after are all over the place. At least four of the ones that Kent actually sees (not counting the others that he scrolls past because he hasn’t got time for _more_ biphobia, quite honestly) say something like KENT PARSON IS GAY or NHL STAR: ‘I’M GAY’ – which, by the way, _were not his words_.

He’s up earlier than his alarm, for once, so he spends his morning going through his notifications. He’s got a voicemail from Bob and Alicia and one from Jack and a handful of texts: his mom, his sister, his cousins that he barely knows, his teammates. They all seem to be happy for him, even the ones that Kent had thought were kind of uncomfortable with him. The Aces group chat is filled with rainbow emojis and Jason’s changed the title to ‘kent parson is bisexual’.

He’s got a private message from Bitty on twitter which is really fucking sweet, actually, Kent can almost imagine him telling him _Congrats!!_ and _Everyone at Samwell is rooting for you_.

Kent’s heart sinks when he doesn’t see anything from Felix. It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know if Felix was aware of his sexuality before yesterday – he’d joined the team after Kent had come out to everyone and they’re actually all decent at keeping it under wraps.

He shrugs it off in favour of eating Fruit Loops and scrolling through his tag on twitter. He favourites all the tweets that are especially nice about him, particularly the ones that talk about him being possibly the most visible bisexual on the planet right now. He retweets all the ones from his teammates and comes across his favourites.

 **@robertzimmermann** Congratulations @kentparsonofficial – we’re all so proud of our favourite bisexual buddy.

#bisexualbuddy has been trending on twitter for ten hours which does not surprise Kent in the slightest. It does make him laugh when he looks at the Aces official account:

 **@VegasAces** @kentparsonofficial is our #bisexualbuddy! Watch his speech here: youtu.be/34uF8e

He still doesn’t have any reaction from Felix when he gets up to go to practice, but he does have a voicemail from Jack and an Instagram post (according to Bitty, Jack’s ‘too hipster’ for twitter, which Jack pretended not to understand before grinning at Kent after during a Skype call).

It’s a picture of him and Jack back in the Q, a kind of early selfie but it’s clear there was no front camera on his phone because the top of Jack’s head is barely visible and the shot is grainy. Kent’s arm monopolises the bottom half of the picture but his and Jack’s faces are visible, happy with big toothy grins and Kent thinks it must have been just after they won the Memorial Cup because they both look a little drunk and delirious.

It’s weird, looking at a piece of his history but not feeling sad about it. Instead, there’s deep sense of nostalgia mixed with elation that this – this picture that is definitely going to worsen whatever rumours are already flying around about him and Jack – this is evidence that Kent and Jack were good and together. Whole before everything fell apart.

Kent likes the picture and reads the caption.

 **jacklaurentz** Proud of Kent for standing up for who he is. Go to youcanplayproject.org to find more info about LGBT athletes and spreading awareness and respect.

And sure, it sucks that Jack can’t be out because it’s his rookie year and he wants to prove himself first as a hockey player. It sucks that Kent’s not with him right now and that he’s alone except for his cat in a big expensive apartment.

But Kent looks at the picture and at the tweets from kids who are coming out to their parents because _if Kent Parson can do it, so can I_. He doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

* * *

He’s nervous when he turns up to practice, for some reason. It’s stupid because he was out to most of the team before and they’ve all shown their support but – Kent feels bare. Like he’s exposed himself in more ways than one to the whole world and to these guys that know him as Captain, not a human being with emotions other than _fuck yes we won_ or _fuck no that was shit_.

He shoulders his bag and turns the corner into the locker room and everyone gradually falls silent and turns to look at him. Kent wonders if they’re expecting some kind of speech that he doesn’t have. He looks around and sees Flickster looking at him like he’s a bomb about to explode, Jason biting his lip.

Felix isn’t there.

“Hey, guys,” Kent says, and dumps his bag on the bench with a loud thud. “Ready?”

* * *

Practice runs smoothly, which is good because Kent is distracted. He gets a few goals but he keeps looking around for Felix, and it’s not like the guy has to be there on that particular day since it’s an optional skate, but Kent can’t help but feel like he’s being avoided. Deliberately.

It’s when they get back to the locker rooms that Jason breaks the awkwardness. Kent hears his voice over the noise from the showers.

“Hey – uh, Parser? Congrats, man. I know we all said it in the group chat but that was really fucking brave.”

Kent pulls on his shorts and grins, punching Jason lightly on the shoulder. “Thanks, bro. Appreciate it.”

The rest of the team seems to think that’s a good time to jump in and suddenly Kent is swarmed by loud voices and grins and he gets dragged out to the nearest restaurant for lunch. He eats a giant burger and gets chirped for his overly performed speech to the media that his team _knows_ wasn’t written by him at all.

“Tell us your actual speech, eh Parse?” Greenie’s saying and Lioner is backing him up. Kent’s on his second drink and he’s a little buzzed so shrugs and raises his glass.

“To the homophobic fuckers of the NHL,” Kent begins, and there’s a big cheer from the team before someone tells them to quieten down. Everyone snickers and Kent continues. “I’m a bisexual guy and I’m not just pretending. I’m not just secretly gay or secretly straight and if you think I’m doing this for attention, then fuck you. The media’s great for the first five minutes of glory and then it sucks, a lot, so I’m not doing this because I think it’s going to improve my name, I’m doing it because –“

Kent gets a little choked up and Jason pats him on the back. The team’s quiet and looking at him and Kent feels like he’s under a spotlight only he’s not, because the world is still spinning and the other people in the restaurant aren’t listening to him, they’re just going about their daily lives and ignoring the bunch of loud men in the corner.

“I’m doing this because I love hockey. I love playing and the fact that I also sometimes like fucking girls or fucking guys –“ There’s a big hoot and some wolf-whistling and Kent grins. His hands are shaking but he’s still talking. “That shouldn’t take away from me. Or my job. I’m a hockey player above everything and one day I might end up with a guy or a girl but that’s no one’s business but mine and theirs – but it matters. For some reason. So I’m doing this because I don’t want to hide who I am when I go to gay clubs, because if I go on a date I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends. I’m doing this for the people in the league who aren’t straight but who didn’t want to be the first to come out. I know they exist and statistically speaking I would say there’s probably about five to ten guys in the NHL who are considering coming out right now because if I can do it, so can they.”

The team starts applauding him and Kent almost carries on, almost says that they shouldn’t clap because not being straight is not a big deal, really, and what matters more is that Kent is still being allowed to play and that maybe, just maybe, he’s made it a little easier for Jack and for whoever else.

He doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

One of the forwards, Grant, offers him a lift back home because he’s sober and Kent accepts it. Grant drops him off outside his building and gives him one of those bro-hugs, which Kent really likes even though that means he’s being visibly emotional.

He gets as far as the elevators before turning around and leaving the building.

Felix lives two blocks away from Kent but the walk there is enough to get his heart racing because he’s still tipsy and nervous about Felix’s reaction. Kent had thought there were – signals? – being sent to him and that his and Felix’s increased time spent at each other’s and texting each other was because Felix likes him, too. But now that he’s taking the stairs two at a time to Felix’s floor he’s doubting himself. Kent thinks of the times when they could have kissed and wonders why Felix never did lean in and close the space between him. He’s at Felix’s door and possibly has never made a worse decision than this, which is saying something because Kent makes a lot of bad decisions, but –

“Hey, Parse.”

Felix had opened the door only a few seconds after Kent knocked and it takes him a second to adjust to the sight of him. He’s wearing a green tank top and these cargo shorts that Kent would totally chirp him about any other day but right now he’s more focused on the way that Felix has bags under his eyes and his expression is just – unreadable. Kent’s always been a people person but this time, he really doesn’t know what to think.

“Uh – hey. Filo. Can I come in?”

There’s a slight hesitation before Felix steps aside and Kent practically tumbles through his doorway. He’s been to Felix’s apartment time and time again and he can’t help but notice that everything’s a little messier this time – empty takeout boxes lie on the table in the living room and the floor is littered with Felix’s sweatpants and – Kent’s face.

Specifically, Kent’s face staring up at him from a magazine.

Kent attempts a casual gesture to the magazine and looks at Felix. “I guess you heard, then. I don’t know if you knew – before – the rest of the team was pretty aware, I think –“

“I didn’t know,” Felix says, and for a second Kent wonders if he’s actually going to get beaten up or something; he knows homophobia is an issue in the NHL but violence off the ice is not something he’s encountered, never with the Aces and never in juniors.

“Oh,” is all Kent can say and he takes an unconscious step backwards.

“I –“ Felix starts and something flashes in his eyes before he gives Kent a half-smile, like he’s trying to be happy but isn’t okay enough to fake it.

Kent knows the feeling.

“Congrats, Parse,” Felix says, and Kent almost frowns. “You must be really happy. It’s really brave.”

Kent licks his lips nervously and his gaze flickers back to the magazine and then back up, “It wasn’t really – I just didn’t want to lie. Not anymore.”

Felix’s face just kind of – crumples. And then he seems to recover from whatever he’d been thinking. “Cool. I mean, you and Zimmermann, right?”

This time Kent does look at him like he’s crazy, “Wait, what? Me and – what?”

“You came out because of – you’re a couple, right?” Felix says slowly, like it pains him and Kent kind of wants to laugh even though this is not a situation to find funny because _fuck_ , he can’t out Jack, not even to Felix.

So he shakes his head rapidly, saying, “Nah, not me and Zimms. We’re just friends – I’m single.”

Felix comes forward, eyebrows furrowed, and Kent feels like he’s frozen to the spot. “You are?” Felix says, in clear disbelief, “No boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever?”

“I’m –“ Kent says and he has to say something, _has to_ , because Felix is looking at him like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen each other and Kent gets this swooping feeling in his stomach like before he takes a shot and – “Well. There was this guy, but. I don’t think he’s into me.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Really,” he drawls, and Kent could honestly spend all day listening to his voice but – _not the time_. “He must be pretty stupid, then.”

“He’s actually okay, y’know. Like, good-looking. Good at hockey,” Kent says and he feels like all the air’s gone out of the room because – _fuck_ , Felix is totally leaning closer and Kent is regretting his height so much because he’s got to get up on his tiptoes, like he didn’t already feel wobbly enough just standing here and baring his fucking soul to the world –

“You’re pretty good at hockey, too,” Felix whispers and then his lips are on Kent’s and it’s fucking fantastic. His lips are warm, if a little chapped but Kent relishes in the way they scrape over his and Felix’s hands are on his waist so Kent takes that as a go-ahead to wind his own hands around Felix’s neck.

And for once, Kent isn’t thinking about how empty his apartment is or how far away his family is or Jack or their chances for the Stanley Cup or whether he actually will get the Art Ross. He’s thinking about Felix and his strong, gentle hands and his dark hair that feels so soft under Kent’s fingertips and his lips on Kent’s and how his jawline feels under Kent’s mouth. He’s thinking about himself being out in the NHL and playing hockey, but most of all, he’s thinking about Felix.

 

**part eleven: on our own little tour**

Kent’s life has never been a fairytale. He used to think that maybe it would turn out to be one, when he was in Juniors and all he could think about was how good it would feel to hold up the Stanley Cup with Jack Zimmermann.

When he was little he’d think about his dad coming back and his whole family moving to a nice house somewhere a little outside of the city, playing catch with him in the backyard. Later, he replaced that idea with the one of _him_ buying a house and skating with Jack under the stars in their outdoor rink.

(Kent’s never been one for practicality.)

The thing is that he’s an optimist. His humour is sardonic and self-deprecating, yes, but at the end of the day, when he comes home to his cat, he still dreams of that house and that rink – the only difference is that when he thinks about Jack, he thinks about Jack lying on the floor with his hand a few inches away from an empty pill bottle. He thinks about Jack yelling at him at Samwell, and yelling right back. He doesn’t think about moving in with Jack – it will always be a _what if_ , but it’s never a _when_ or a wish.

And it’s weird, having Jack be a part of his past, like there’s a piece of Kent Parson that will always be labelled "For Jack Zimmermann". But Kent texts him after matches and Jack texts back, and Kent is actually grateful for Eric Bittle, who has somehow managed to make Jack the happiest Kent’s ever seen him _and_ teach him how to use his phone.

Kent doesn’t dream about Jack but he does dream about Felix. Maybe not in that nice suburban house with the outdoor rink, but maybe something a little more close to home. A little more _them_.

* * *

Being out in the NHL isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, as much as he wishes it was. For one thing, he keeps coming out – he knew this was going to happen, that people see a hockey player so they see a heterosexual man too – but nothing prepared him for the number of articles he saw that talked about him being secretly gay or just wanting attention, which is ridiculous. Kent knows he’s an attention-whore and he gets a lot of it already.

He also isn’t prepared for the fans. They make up a whole other type of media that Kent’s never looked too deeply into but it’s difficult when fan accounts pop up in his suggested list on twitter and tell him to follow random people that enjoy imagining Kent fucking his teammates. Like, sure he’s thought about it – they _are_ an attractive bunch of hockey players, sue him – but still. He gets especially nervous whenever he sees something about him and Felix because _god_ , they’re so close to finding out the truth.

That’s another thing. He can’t begrudge Felix this, but occasionally he feels like being in a relationship with another team member is like walking straight back into the closet. It’s worth it when he and Felix get into his apartment after practice and eat lunch together and when they win a match and have celebratory sex. But it’s hard, too – they argue more than they did before, and Kent is reminded with shocking clarity of his fights with Jack whenever it happens, which sends him spiralling into thoughts like _this is a bad idea_ and _never date a teammate_ and _what were you thinking you can’t out him too_.

The worst of it is on the ice. It’s fine when it’s just Kent and his team; feels like nothing’s changed except maybe they know him a little better. Some of the guys seem uncomfortable but no one says or does anything against Kent and PR is _great_ at building a support base for him that backs him up whenever there’s a semblance of homophobic media. All of that is okay – better than okay, even. On the ice is where it hurts.

They’re playing the Hurricanes and it’s 1-1. Kent’s whizzing around the rink at lightning speed with his teeth digging into his mouth-guard and _he’s_ _got the puck_ , he’s close and he can see Jason on his right and Lioner on his left and the goal’s within sight –

He gets checked into the boards with a heavy thump; the shockwaves ring through his head despite his helmet and his vision blurs as someone presses into him. Kent struggles for air under the pure weight of a hockey player whose shoulders are twice the width of his.

The voice that follows is quiet enough that Kent’s sure he’s the only one that can hear it when the guy says, “Bet you like it like this, huh Parson?” He’s hissing, and Kent’s blood boils, there’s fire in his veins and he aches to push him away but he’s not strong enough. He’s trapped. “Does your boyfriend fuck you like this? Or do you get on your knees for him, faggot?”

Kent’s never been a physical fighter. He’s tried, _god_ , has he tried when the bigger boys at his school elbowed him and shoved him into lockers. He’s tried on the ice too, and occasionally gets a really good hit in because hockey players don’t expect it from him. But he’s not built in the way that most NHL guys are.

Kent gets by with his words.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Kent spits, “Is this turning you on?”

The guy seems momentarily surprised that Kent actually had the audacity to say something like that, which gives him all the time he needs to wriggle free and speed over to the other end of the rink.

Still. Kent’s shaken by the whole affair, and it’s not just because of the huge bruise he has on his side. Hockey is a rough game and everyone knows it, but to be singled out like that after he’d come out, after there had been such a positive display of support –

It’s scary. More than that, it’s sad. When he crawls into bed that night he’s alone (save for the cat at the end of his bed) and he doesn’t answer his messages or his voicemails, not even the ones from Felix and his team.

Sometimes Kent thinks it’s okay not to always be okay.

* * *

The great thing about Felix - being with him, talking to him, holding his hand - is that he's not Jack. That sounds weird, because Kent and Jack are probably now as okay as they're ever going to be, but it's true.

It's not that he's got anything against Jack anymore, not really, but it's refreshing. Not to have every minute of his life haunted by _what ifs_ and _maybes_ and _I wish Jack was here_. In a way, Felix is like his opposite (although Kent doesn't like comparing the two): he's loud, he unironically says "lol" in general conversation, he struggles more with sticking to his nutrition plan than anything else.

And yet -

"You can't come out because of me," Kent’s saying and it feels like he's talking to Jack or Jack's talking to him and _why do they even have to have this conversation_.

The NHL sucks.

"I'm not! I mean -" Felix is doing that thing where he gesticulates. A lot. It happens when he's happy or fed-up or drunk. Kent somehow thinks now is one of those fed-up times. "I mean I am a bit, but not _totally_. It's for me."

"But you just said -" _You just said you want to come out because I did and I can't deal with that if it goes wrong because it always goes wrong with me._

"Ah - Kent! I know what I said but - just let me do this. I want this -" Felix hesitates and they lock eyes. Kent steps forward to where Felix is standing right in the middle of his lounge, right where they first kissed.

"I want this for us," Felix says, and _goddamn_ if Kent’s romantic side (which is pretty big, honestly) isn't making him weak at the knees right now.

"Okay," he says, and it is.

 

**part twelve: and all the silver moons**

The wedding is beautiful. From the lace details on the tablecloths to the fairy lights strung across the walls, the perfectly-pressed suits of the two grooms to the smiles that adorn their faces.

Kent is _hideously_ jealous – not because it’s Jack up there, marrying the light of his life who is not Kent – but because it’s not him getting married.

Well. Not yet.

At the reception (after the ceremony and the tears and the congratulations), Kent sits next to Felix at the open bar and surveys the crowd. Watches Alicia dancing with Eric Bittle – or is he Zimmermann, now? – and Bob laughing at something Jack’s best man Shitty says, and Jack.

Jack, who is heading straight for him.

“Hey, Filo,” Jack says to Felix. He’s practically glowing and the bitter side of Kent thinks _will I ever be that happy_ until he squishes the thought and smiles instead. Jack continues, “Can I borrow Kent for a minute?”

Felix raises an eyebrow at Kent, to which he shrugs and peels himself off the barstool. “Lead the way, married man.”

Jack grins and starts walking backwards, leading Kent through the crowd onto the middle of the dancefloor. It weirdly reminds Kent of when they used to skate together; Jack gliding backwards and Kent chasing him across the ice.

Jack motions to the floor as if to say _it’s more awkward if we just stand here instead of dancing_ and so Kent takes his offered hand. His muscle memory – how their fingers used to intertwine, how Kent’s hand would curve around Jack’s – has long since faded, and Jack’s palm is no longer cold and clammy like it used to be. His hands are steady in Kent’s, not shaking, not scared.

“This is a good look for you,” Kent says, breaking the silence. His other hand rests lightly on Jack’s shoulder and they begin to sway from side to side.

“Marriage?”

“Happiness,” Kent says, even though he hates himself for the cliché, just a little. “You look happy.”

“I am,” Jack says. A pause, and then their eyes lock. “I hope you are, too.”

They turn. Felix is still over at the bar, drink in his hand as he chats to one of the Falcs players. He’s engaged in the conversation, clearly telling some funny story that causes the other guy to throw his head back and laugh. He glances at the dancefloor for a split second, eyes searching until he picks Kent out of the crowd.

Kent feels his lips turn upwards – not for his media-generated smirk, but into a genuine smile. He looks at Jack again.

“I am, Zimms. I really am.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this! please give kudos/leave me a comment if you can :)


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